


Rocky Mountain Minute

by ANEMONEXVI



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dude Ranch AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-08 13:02:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16429883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANEMONEXVI/pseuds/ANEMONEXVI
Summary: Andrew's been living on Foxhole Acres for a while now. With the Rocky Mountains in the backdrop, and miles of beautiful wilderness, its a remote and quiet place to recover for anyone with a monster or two.The horses and the work keep his hands busy from sun up 'til sundown but Andrew finds himself settling into something here, a calm maybe.That is until the newest client, his new roommate, and the son of an infamous crime boss arrives...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello this is a project ive had in the works for quite some time, i use to work at a summer camp with horses and this is kinda heavily inspired from that but also i needed a distraction from my [Magic!AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15297702/chapters/35490351) that has consumed my life.
> 
> the allusion to an eating disorder comes from Nora's extra content
> 
> im not really sure where this will go but im having fun
> 
> i struggle with feeling like the characters are 'in character' so i hope its decent and that you like it
> 
> also i couldnt think of a better name than dude ranch but i hate it

Catapult had an obsidian coat and a white star on his forehead. He was smaller than all the other horses on the ranch, but Andrew preferred his petite agile pony to the bulkier steeds at Foxhole Acres. Wymack had paired the two of them together a month after Andrew had first arrived. 

Catapult had been an impossible ride, bucking off all contenders who attempted to reign him in. Wymack wasn’t sure what he was going to do with the horse; they couldn’t use him for any work around the ranch with his attitude and he wasn’t safe enough to be a lesson horse for Abby’s lesson program. 

That is until he saw Andrew working with the gelding after dinner one evening. 

Andrew had stripped away the heavy bridle and saddleand swapped it for a lighter synthetic type, and switched the harsh and uncomfortable looking bit for a gentler style. Andrew had Catapult on the lunge line, working him in a wide circle, the horse threw a few spare crow hops before settling into a smooth rhythm. Then he repeated the process with the horse going the other direction, Catapult threw his head a bit in complaint, before settling in on the bit. 

When Andrew had mounted, Catapult tried to buck him off with his usual rabid fervor, but Andrew had been expecting this behavior by now and he sank his weight into his heels for balance and let Catapult writhe and dance across the arena, attempting to jettison Andrew from his back.

Eventually, the horse tired himself out and seemed to catch on to the fact that Andrew wasn’t going to be thrown any time soon, but it wasn’t until Andrew started using gentle, almost imperceptible cues, that Catapult understood. 

Andrew wasn’t going to tear at his mouth with the reigns. He’d barely lifted them while the horse had been hopping around but to hold his head somewhat steady. He’d been depending more upon the movement of his seat bones, and the position of his thighs and lower legs, to disrupt and redirect Catapult’s direction with his own body weight.

Wymack hadn’t seen a horse’s countenance change so quickly before, but he swore he could see the smile in the black steed’s eyes.

Andrew was notified of Catapult being permanently assigned as his ranching mount the next morning at breakfast. 

 

∆

 

“There’s a new kid comin’ up to the ranch today and I want you to show him around. He’ll be bunking in the common house next door to your room anyways, you might as well get to know each other now.” Wymack said at breakfast with a mug of coffee in one hand and his smartphone in the other. He was pretending to check his email.

Andrew scowled around his ill-timed mouthful of oatmeal and chewed while attempting not to resemble a baby gargoyle.

“No thanks,” he said at length.

“I appreciate how open you are with your feelings, but this isn’t up for debate,” Wymack said without looking up from his phone, now he really was checking his email and Andrew wondered when exactly he had lost his intimidation factor with the head rancher. 

“His uncle is dropping him off around eleven,” Wymack got up to wash out his mug.

Andrew dumped another heaping tablespoon of brown sugar into his hot cereal and shoveled in a large mouthful before taking a big gulp of his milky-brown hot coffee.

“What is it this time? Another brat from the big city with a penchant for puking and a rich family? Speaking of which, Allison is not going to be finished with the side stoop on the east barn in time,” Andrew said.

“You know pasts are private here until freely offered,” Wymack reminded him in a stern voice and Andrew didn’t fight his eye roll, “I know you haven’t forgotten that,” Wymack pointed a finger at him before turning back to wash dishes in the sink and mumbling about a dishwasher.

“And I wouldn’t count Allison out just yet, she’ll figure it out,” Wymack said as he came back to the table.

“Or Dan will secretly help her this time,” Andrew said with a waggle of his fingers at the word, ‘secretly.’

Wymack squinted at Andrew in thought and Andrew sipped his coffee.

“Don’t do that thing, wherein you try and distract me,” Wymack said with a wave of his palm.

“I was doing more than trying,” Andrew said and Wymack huffed out an irritated groan.

 

∆

 

The navy blue Rolls Royce shot along the winding road up to Foxhole Acres’ main office and caught Andrew’s attention as he leaned backwards in a bright pink fold-out camp chair and sucked on a cigarette between his lips. The car maneuvered as if driven by a coked out Earnhardt Jr.

It slid into a stop, spraying dust and gravel every which way. When the driver climbed out he was mid yell, “—is not a good idea, Nat! There’s bad blood in that house and I won’t have you losin’ your mind on us, not when we just got you back, I won’t have it!”

The passenger, Nat, wrenched the door wide open and slid out into the dust and haze that the car had thrown up, “I don’t remember asking for your permission to live inside my own goddamn house, Uncle Stuart,” he spat. He pulled a pack of Marlb 27’s from his hoodie pocket and plucked out a stick.

“You shouldn’t smoke,” his Uncle Stuart snapped with a scowl.

Nat gave Stuart a scathing look before his face shifted into a sly smile and he shook the pack at his uncle with a quirked eyebrow.

“Alright, yes,” Stuart sighed and his shoulder slumped. He accepted the proffered pack, had a lit stick in his mouth, and was offering his nephew the lighter when Andrew let the front legs of his fold out chair slam to the ground.

Two heads swiveled around.

“The fuck?” said the uncle. 

Andrew slid his sunglasses down his face, “Welcome to Foxhole Acres,” he drawled in his best customer service voice, which was not very good at all. 

Stuart scrunched up his nose in reaction but the nephew stepped forward to get a clearer look at Andrew and, guessing by his expression, he wasn’t impressed.

“Who are you? We were told we’d be meeting David Wymack, head of the ranch, at least a decade older than you,” Nat held in an exaggerated smug laugh, “and at least a solid foot taller, too.”

Short jokes. Wymack was going to find himself sleeping beneath a cold bed of dirt with a fresh tombstone and flowers planted over his head one of these days. 

Andrew exhaled around his cigarette and sent a dull stare towards the nephew. Nat stepped further forward and now Andrew could see that he had fiery auburn hair and piercing ice-blue eyes underneath the black hood of his sweatshirt. 

Andrew’s brain automatically supplied him with a name, the face having graced the cover of all mainstream news lately, and his brows rose, though they were hidden from the newcomers behind his donned pair of black Ray Bans.

“Oi, don’t be a prat.” Stuart said. He slid his Zippo into his suit pocket and shook out his arm to check his watch. Andrew calculated that he could afford a Bachelor’s Degree from the local state university if he hawked it.

Andrew turned and got up, walking into the office. There was a beat of silence before he heard footsteps in the gravel after him.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as Stuart and Wymack had elected to speak privately in the office, Nathaniel had exited the barn in a rush of irritation. Andrew watched as the young man sprinted away and turned onto one of the trails leading into the woods.

When Nathaniel’s hooded back disappeared over the ridge, Andrew’s attention was caught by the voices in Wymack’s office. He walked with practiced silence over to the door and leaned up against the wall beside it to listen.

“—like they suggested he would,” Stuart was speaking, “The Feds wanted to try him as an adult for fuck’s sake! The family wouldn’t have it, see, an’ he was still a child! 

“I reckon they were pissed that they couldn’t get Nathan for their own, to question, you know, but I—”

Stuart’s voice got caught in his throat, Andrew felt himself pulled in closer, straining to hear through the closed door.

“Nat had told me what his father did to Mary… Anyways, we didn’t wait to enter the country after that email, and i didn’t hesitate to put three bullets in the back of Nathan’s brain as soon as I saw him.”

“He had Nat on the ground…like he’d do to all the others. I have nightmares about what state he’d be in had we been even a minute later.”

There was a long pause, shuffling of fabric, and a heavy sigh.

“Christ. You said his mother was killed as well, so does that mean you’re his guardian?” Wymack asked.

“Aye, that.” Stuart said.

“I’d say I feel bad for the kid, but you and I both know even you’re an upgrade from a family like that.” Wymack said.

“But, Davey, listen…Nathaniel is…just keep a close eye on him for now, yeah?” Stuart said hesitantly.

“You know I will. The mountains will be good for him.” Wymack said.

Andrew had heard enough. He moved away from the door and walked down the corridor. 

This barn was a long building with offices at one end and tack rooms and stalls on the other.

He walked past Catapult’s stall, the horse’s name printed on a small metal plaque and nailed to the wooden sliding door. The gelding was out in the pasture along with the rest of the heard but he had left behind more than a few steaming piles of manure. Andrew walked to the store room across the aisle and grabbed a pitch fork and a wheelbarrow. 

He was finished with Catapult’s stall and returning the emptied wheelbarrow to the store room when Stuart and Wymack exited the office. Their heads were bowed together in quiet conversation.

After a few words back and forth, Stuart held his right hand out for Wymack. The two shared a firm handshake and Stuart clapped Wymack on the shoulder with his other hand.

“Take care of my boy, Davey. You know how to contact me if he gives you too much trouble, yeah?”

“I know the drill, Stuart. Now get outta here, you crazy British bastard.”

Stuart gave him a fierce grin before turning and striding out the door. Andrew heard the purr of the Rolls Royce revving a few seconds later. Then there was the sound of spinning wheels and flinging gravel and Stuart Hatford was gone as quickly as he had arrived.

Wymack turned and, spotting Andrew, sent him a scrutinizing squint.

“Where’s the kid?” Wymack asked.

Andrew hummed before answering, “Went for a jog, I think.” he shrugged.

“A jog,” Wymack was nodding his head as if it would help him understand,“Well, when he gets back show him his room, would ya?” 

“Sure thing, Davey.” Andrew said.

“Not a word, short-stack.” Wymack warned with a finger pointed at Andrew.

 

∆

 

By the time Nathaniel returned to the main barns the sun had almost set and Andrew had finished mucking out all twenty stalls in the First Barn. 

Nathaniel’s cheeks were flushed and his hoodie had sweat marks along his chest, neck, and armpits. He walked into the barn and peaked inside Wymack’s office and, finding it empty, he turned and looked down the aisle, spotting Andrew.

Andrew watched as Nathaniel’s eyes ran him up and down with a cold calculative study.

“Wymack is in the Third Barn helping Abby.” Andrew said hoping he would leave to find the head rancher.

“Where is my room?” Nathaniel asked instead.

Andrew wanted to ignore Nathaniel but he had made a deal with Wymack, so he set the broom he had been idly sweeping the aisle with aside, and walked out of the First Barn, starting up the gravel drive.

Nathaniel took the hint and followed him a moment later, his feet crunching gravel underfoot. They arrived at the two story Common House after a few minutes of walking uphill. The wooden building was simple and nondescript with a porch out front. It backed up to a wooded lot of pasture. The gravel drive looped around to Second Barn and then back in the direction of the road where Third Barn sat.

Andrew threw open the door of the Common House and took the stairs up to the second level. He reached the door that he knew was Nathaniel’s intended room and stopped. 

He pointed to the blank whiteboard hanging on the closed door, “This is yours, write your name on it, your Christmas list, or your suicide note, I don’t care.” He fished in his jeans pocked for the keyring Wymack had supplied him with. There were seven keys on it, each with a little masking tape label via Abby.

He held out the keys to Nathaniel and watched as the man hesitated, a pained look flashing across his face.

Andrew let the keys slip out of his outstretched hand and clutter to the floor, “Bathrooms are on each side of the hall in the center, breakfast is at eight in the Main House,” he said and then left Nathaniel standing in the hallway.

 

∆

 

Andrew did not wake up at seven-thirty as he usually did most mornings. This morning Andrew was awoken by the raucous singing of what he could only guess was a foreign nursery rhyme, and the creaking of someone jumping up and down on a spring mattress.

When he opened his eyes he found that he had been mostly correct; Nathaniel was hopping up and down on a sleeping Kevin in his bed. The mattress gave loud squeaks with each of his jumps but it added a melody to the lilting nursery rhyme Nathaniel was belting out of his mouth. Andrew couldn’t make out many of the words but he at least recognized Polish when he heard it so clear and loud in his own bedroom at six in the morning.

Kevin gave a titanic groan before attempting to roll over into the wall. 

“Oh no you don’t you big tall bastard!” Nathaniel said, apparently done with the Polish songs for now, he reached underneath Kevin’s shirt and began to tickle him.

Nathaniel repeated Kevin’s name in a mantra, apparently attempting to rouse him with annoyance, “Kevin. Kevin. Kevin. Yo, Kevin. Wake up, dude. Kevin. Kevin. Kevin. Kevin.”

Kevin started to struggle and in a great groggy shove he toppled Nathaniel off of him and the boy slumped to the ground in a pile of Kevin’s comforter. 

Andrew watched from his bed as the young man collected his strength for a second go and hopped back onto Kevin, jumping up and down while alternating light slaps with his hands. It wasn’t until he started belting out the bright Polish nursery rhyme again that Kevin finally came to.

He recognized Nathaniel immediately, his face turning a pale green color, “Nathaniel?!”

“The one and only,” Nathaniel said sarcastically. He had a tired look in his blue eyes and a mournful grin on his face.

“Hey, so now that you’re awake—” Nathaniel began but Kevin cut him off.

“What the fuck! Wait, stop. How are you here?” Kevin asked incredulously. “I thought the Feds were keeping you locked up tight?”

“They couldn’t hold me forever,” Nathaniel seemed impatient with Kevin’s questions, “Besides Uncle Stuart told me the family was starting to put pressure on them.”

Kevin stared intently at Nathaniel’s face with a scowl on his own. 

“Wait, but why are you _here_ here, at Foxhole Acres?”

Nathaniel sighed, “My uncle and your old man go way back. Before I was even out of the hospital they had this all set up and just waiting to spring.”

Nathaniel was settled on Kevin’s lap with the comforter flounced around his hips as they chatted.

That Wymack was Kevin’s father was news to Andrew. He fought not to roll his eyes at the drama of it all, secret fathers and sons who kept secrets. 

Kevin seemed to remember that he had a roommate at last. He looked owlishly at Andrew, who had his chin resting in his palm and had been watching the entire exchange.

Kevin proceeded to blush furiously, the position he and Nathaniel were in too suggestive for his modesty. Andrew found himself quirking a brow at the thought of Kevin and modesty in the same sentence.

Nathaniel expressed zero bashfulness when he spotted Andrew, and simply toppled out of Kevin’s bed and back onto his feet.

“ _Come on_ , Kevin,” Nathaniel groaned and then walked to the dresser besides Kevin’s bed. He started throwing clean clothes at Kevin, who batted them away with a hand.

“Nathaniel! Stop—,“ A sweatshirt covered Kevin’s face and muffled his next words, he brushed it aside and said, “I don’t have a vehicle here!”

Nathaniel froze, “What? What do you mean? Why not? Your father didn’t—“

“ _My father_ doesn’t know he is my father so shut your fat fucking mouth!” Kevin hissed.

Nathaniel bit the bottom of his lip and glanced in Andrew’s direction, “Uh, oops?” he shrugged halfheartedly, “Seriously, don’t you think its about time you tell him the good news?” he whispered conspiratorially. 

Kevin covered his face in his hands, “I think he already suspects,” he groaned as he rolled over into his pillow and let the soft fabric absorb another muted yell.

“Anyways…” Nathaniel backed up towards the door, “I’m gonna go see if I can get a ride from somebody on this god-forsaken farm,” he declared before waltzing out the door and slamming it shut.

“It’s a ranch.” Andrew heard Kevin say despairingly into his pillow.

 

∆

 

Andrew was well enough versed in body language to spot Nathaniel’s discomfort from down the drive. The redhead was sitting board-straight in the passenger seat of Wymack’s Ford F-450. 

Andrew was perched with one leg behind the other, leaning on the edge of the Common House’s porch railing. He had a cigarette tucked in the corner of his mouth that he was working down to the filter.

Kevin had gone back to bed after Nathaniel’s little Breaking and Entering, sighting the last 45 minutes before breakfast as prime sleep real estate.

As for Andrew, he couldn’t quite reconcile the way his body had failed to alert him of an intruder into his (and Kevin’s) bedroom. Sure, much time had passed, but it felt too much like a loss.

He thought of the his last phone call with Bee and the things they had discussed. Andrew knew by now not to punish himself for making progress but the knee-jerk discomfort and panic was all but instinctual. 

He could picture the look on Bee’s face when he inevitably retold the events of this morning that had him absently reaching for the blades within his armbands. He rubbed the sleeve of his flannel, feeling the raised bump where one of the knives rested.

Andrew watched from across the drive as Wymack hopped into the drivers seat of the monstrous truck and it growled to life. He didn’t miss the way Nathaniel flinched in the passenger seat as the man entered the vehicle, nor how he seemed to squish himself into the window as far away from Wymack as he could manage in the truck cab.

He blew out a puff of smoke and started for the First Barn. He’d take Catapult for a run up the mountain pass and consider which horse to put Nathaniel on.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading, i hope you liked it and im excited to work on the next chapters!


	3. Chapter 3

Andrew threw open the door of Rudder’s Tavern with a heavy thwack, the glass pane trembled from where it slammed into the wall. He didn’t bother with the coat rack, the cold Montana spring and a secret dedication to fashion had him keeping his leather bomber snug over his shoulders.

The hazard light beat of Kesha’s _Woman_ blasted through the dusty speakers hanging from the dank brown walls.

He didn’t have to search or inquire from a waiter: the bell chime of breaking glass and squealing tires of chaotic screaming drew his ears. A pulsing throng of bodies in the center of the floor snagged his eyes and he squinted; a flash a red. Blood or auburn hair, he wasn’t sure.

Roland met his eyes over the bar where he was polishing a glass tumbler and shrugged, tilting his head towards to mass of flannel and plaid donning bar-goers.

Wymack had received the call not fifteen minutes ago. Roland needed to improve his descriptive skills. This was more than a simple scuffle.

For one, it was still going and didn’t seem to be losing speed

The entirety of the small town where Wymack set up shop was most likely there on the floor of Rudder’s Tavern. But it wasn’t dancing or drinking that ruled the evening. Tonight, it was bludger punches and bloodied teeth, spilled liquor and toppled tables.

He approached the tangle of scuffling limbs and angry scrunched up reddened faces. A wide-thrown chair sailed passed his head, shouted curses and wordless grunts met his ears.

There is the center of the reddish brown floor was Nathaniel straddling a stranger and laying down repeating punches to the poor man’s face.

Another person clad in Carhartts and a brown chin strap gripped the back of Nathaniel’s sweatshirt and dragged him off. On the way back, Nathaniel managed to grasp the neck of an almost empty bottle of Captain Morgan. In one concise arc, he smashed the glass bottle behind him and across the Carhartt-wearing man’s skull. The impact sent the man reeling to the floor, unconscious, with a gash in his temple and the resounding crash drew the attention of several other bloodthirsty brawlers.

Nathaniel staggered back to his feet with the half smashed bottle in hand, jagged glass catching the light. His hair was in a wild disarray and he had a dribble of blood coming from his nose.  
“That’s enough.” Andrew said.

Nathaniel spun around at the sound of a familiar voice, his eyes narrowing when they met Andrew’s.

“Fuck you! What are you doing—”

A sucker punch to the temple from behind had Nathaniel flat on his back before he could spit out what was sure to be an inspired insult.

Cameron Daley from the dairy farm down the road cracked her knuckles and approached the prone body that was sprawled on the floor.

Andrew stepped quickly over Nathaniel’s left leg and slid a switchblade out from underneath his sleeve into his palm in a smooth and practiced motion.

He spun the blade across his scarred knuckles before catching it in a firm grip.

Cameron and the rest of the brawlers froze with their eyes on the glint of metal before looking up to the face of the wielder. Recognition smoothed over their collective expressions before apprehension settled in.

“Screw this, that’s Wymack’s Minyard, he’s crazy,” someone at the back in red plaid grumbled.

“Martin’s still recovering from his fuckin’ stab wound. That short shit is good for it,” another gruff voice called.

Cameron looked Andrew up and down before stepping back with a scowl. “To hell with this, let’s clear out!” she called to the few people still sober enough to stand and they began to leave through the side door of the bar. She turned back to Andrew with only slight hesitation, “You tell Wymack he better keep an eye on his mutts.” She spat at Andrew’s feet to accentuate her point.

Andrew didn’t bother with a response besides a condescendingly raised eyebrow. The few stragglers and rogue fighters dispersed, some leaving while others simply bellied up to the bar for another round.

He pocketed his switchblade and bent down to better evaluate Nathaniel’s unconscious form on the dirty floor. A bleeding nose and a ripening bruise across his temple were all he could discern. The sleeve of his grey hooded sweatshirt was torn and he reeked like an entire bottle of liquor had been spilled over him.

A groan drew his attention to Nathaniel’s face. His eyes were beginning to flutter open, icy-blue peeking through the haze. His pupils looked fine, so probably no concussion.

Nathaniel seemed to register the loom of a body above him because he flinched backwards suddenly with a panicked yelp. Andrew stilled and watched quietly until he came back to himself.

Nathaniel rubbed tenderly at his temple where a great purple bruise was forming, his eyes slid to Andrew and narrowed. “What are you doing here?” he asked, derision rolling off his tongue like steam.

“You are not the first of Wymack’s wards to think a bar fight is a nuanced activity.”

“So what you’re saying is if you hadn’t shown up and interrupted, I might have won? Are you happy with yourself?” Nathaniel mocked.

“Some days are better than others,” Andrew studied Nathaniels confused expression before the man tucked it away beneath a veneer of defensive pride. “I am certain you would have had your ass handed to you kindly by Cameron, she has a prejudice against Wymack and his pups ever since Seth was caught on her farm with Cam’s old girlfriend. Needless to say, they are no longer together and Seth got away with just the one broken arm.”

“I can handle myself in a fight just fine.”

“Clearly.”

“Did he send you to fetch me, then? The veteran stray here to rescue the new recruit of Davey’s patchwork ranch of misfit toys? What does that make you, huh? A feral dog on an extra long leash?” Nathaniel rose to a seated position, flinched, and gripped his head like it throbbed. Andrew was sure that it did.

He grasped Nathaniel’s jacket, ignoring his vocal protest, and hauled him to his feet where he swayed once before shooting his hand out to the wall for support. The look of irritation Andrew received was as sweet as cherry pie.

“As much fun as this has been watching you get knocked out cold, you are barred from Rudder’s for thirty days for fighting and Wymack, I am sure, will be writing up a laundry list of labor for you as we speak. I’m certain he has already dialed an international call to your dearest uncle as well.”

Andrew felt his eyes widen fractionally to absorb the swift flash of guilt that flitted across Nathaniel’s bloody face before he once more slapped on that seamless mask of bravado.

The ride back to Wymack’s ranch was sweetly silent except for the late night talk show host’s voice buzzing through the radio’s speakers. Andrew popped the glove compartment open with a click and wordlessly retrieved a roll of paper towels which he plopped in Nathaniel’s lap. The man held a crumpled up towel to his bleeding nose and looked out the window at the passing trees and stray houses in the dark.

∆

Andrew was working Catapult in the outdoor arena. His favorite saddle, the leather dressage one, felt like smooth butter between himself and the horse. Getting Catapult to drop his head and canter in a collected and non-frenzied manner had sweat pouring from any and all crevices. Much to his own disgust and Catapult’s apparent glee, the horse had managed to dump him off in the corner once already and it wasn’t even past noon. His black breeches had smears of brown sand and dirt all along one leg and up his left ass-cheek.

Gentle half-halts were the activity of the day, he lightly squeezed his hands with every few strides to coax the gelding into a more controlled speed while guiding the horses hindquarters with his own hips. Large and small circles were perfected and repeated and finally Andrew felt some satisfaction with his and Catapult’s progress.

He was walking the gelding along the outer edge of the arena with his reigns loose to give the horse room for stretching as they both cooled down when he spotted him.

Nathaniel was sporting a pair of washed out jean shorts that were cut off well above his knees and an old faded t-shirt. His work boots with mismatched socks poking above their laces gave him an oddly unbalanced silhouette. He was drenched in a sheen of sweat. Spring had arrived to Foxhole Acres in a sudden heat wave and Nathaniel’s auburn hair was matted to his forehead and secured above his neckline with an orange bandana.

He was hauling a rusty toolbox in one hand and had a few two-by-fours tucked under his arm. He reached the driveway besides First Barn and plopped the tool box and two-by-fours in the back of the utility truck’s bed. The old vehicle was kept running by Wymack’s sheer willpower and countless patch-up jobs. Nathaniel hauled himself into the drivers seat and took off in a cloud of smoke down the drive heading out along the winding path into the pastures that climbed towards the mountains.

The smack-pop sound of lips on Andrew’s right side drew his attention away from the receding sight of the utility truck.

Allison and Renee were seated atop their horses not twenty feet away, just outside the fence of the outdoor arena. Allison had a round lollipop tucked in her cheek and pink sunglasses covering her eyes. She popped the lollipop out of her mouth and grinned.

“Enjoying the view, were you?” she said with a pearly white grin, her golden curly hair falling over her shoulders. Her mount, Belladonna, was one of the largest horses on the ranch. The cream colored Palomino mare whinnied to Catapult who answered with a few whinnies of his own and a shaken head. Andrew regretted that his horse had made such an unfavorable friend.

He smoothly ignored Allison’s taunting.

“Hello Andrew, how’s it going? Catapult seems to be doing well,” Renee said with a soft smile. Her horse, Trevvy, was a lanky Appaloosa with a patchwork coat of black, brown, and white speckles and a short stubby tail.

“Yeah,” was all he said.

“He’s upset because we caught him drooling over the new kid,” Allison pretended to whisper.

Renee’s head tilted as she studied Andrew, “He seems to have quite a lot of energy, Nathaniel that is,” she said. “I heard you helped him out at Rudder’s last night, that was kind of you.”

“ _Help_ was loosely applied,” he said with a wave of one hand. “Did you let him borrow your old clothes?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” she laughed, a hand coming up to cover her mouth, he knew she didn’t like her uneven teeth. “He needed some shorts and a t-shirt that he could get messy, I offered up my closet to him, it’s mostly barn clothes anyway, and we’re the same size.”

Andrew grunted in response.

“Wymack has him repairing the fence along the North-Western line. It’s gonna take him all day,” Allison said with a laugh.

“When are you going to get him in the saddle?” Renee asked.

Andrew sighed, “Why is he suddenly my responsibility?”

“Wymack seems to think you’re up to the task, I personally don’t understand it but I’m just glad he’s not under my jurisdiction,” Allison said.

“I’m going to put him on Jellybean,” Andrew said.

Allison laughed while Renee smiled.

“That’s perfect,” Allison said.

“Yeah, I agree, that’s a great choice, Andrew,” Renee said.

 


End file.
